


A Thought Experiment on Hair

by lmirana



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Red-Haired Harry Potter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:28:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28099956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lmirana/pseuds/lmirana
Summary: What if Harry looked more like Lily? An unplanned investigation...
Relationships: Harry Potter/?
Kudos: 28





	A Thought Experiment on Hair

**Author's Note:**

> From what I could tell, there's a decided dearth of stories where Harry looks more like Lily, so I decided to write one (note to authors: SO SO sorry if what I wrote is something that you've already done and I didn't see it!). I'm not really sure where this is going, and it's my first ever fan-fic, so be aware it could turn into an unplanned train-wreck of a story. The only things that are for sure are: 1) Harry is going to look like a carbon-copy boy version of Lily, 2) this will turn into M/M at some point with some character that's in the books (although almost certainly not smutty --- not sure my faint heart could handle writing that), 3) this is going to take a long time to finish, and 4) there's probably something I've forgotten here I'll have to add later. In general I expect this fic to focus much more on the social aspects of school life (and later romance) and either skate over or cut out most of the political/fighting elements. I'm also going to try not to deviate too too much from what's actually discussed in the books in terms of what the wizarding world is like (e.g. no discussion of heirs, courting, etc.). Anyways, for the two people who will probably read this, here goes my inaugural story haha!
> 
> The usual disclaimers apply: All the stuff is JKR's, not for profit, not beta'd, etc.

Petunia stared down at the little bundle, still nestled in the wicker basket. Questions raced through her mind – _why her? How, how can she do this, explain it away?_ – but she involuntarily returned to her first thought: _He looks so much like Lily_. True, babies changed all the time as they aged, hair going from pale blond to chestnut, chins lengthening, expressions arranging in new and unique ways, and yes, Petunia had only seen James once or twice years before, but this was uncanny. It was all her, from his wisps of red hair to his nose, and even, when he had been awake after Petunia’s shriek upon discovering him on the front porch, to his green eyes. Except the scar of course. A pity, really, that it marred his pale forehead. Almost…but no, better not to even think of the m word.

Turning from the basket to the table, Petunia returned her gaze to the unfolded letter. Her eyes skimmed over the lines again, although she had already examined it enough to commit the words to memory. _It is my unfortunate duty to inform you that your sister and brother-in-law were murdered yesterday, October 31…Their son, and your nephew, Harry, survived the attack…It would be best for his safety to live with you and your family, his only blood relatives_. “Ridiculous,” Petunia muttered, “surely they could have scrounged up some cousin or other from _his_ family tree.” _To better emphasize the necessity of this arrangement, I have detailed the precise arguments and reasonings in the accompanying pages_. God, what a presumptuous old goat. Drop the baby and expect her to take care of it, not even bothering to explain why in person. But she had read his justification – practically a monograph – again and again, the whole morning, and was slowly but inexorably coming to the horrible conclusion that he was right. She would need to take care of it.

A thump echoed from upstairs, announcing that Dudley had woken up from his nap. Petunia rose to her feet, and pensively moved towards the stairs. She would have to think of what to say to Vernon to convince him, but in the meantime, Dudley had to be fed and coddled. Perhaps she would take him for a short outing to the local playground. Some fresh air would do them both good. 

* * *

Vernon Dursley dragged out his work that day. True, he was able to yell at more of the idiots that seemed to multiply yearly in his department of Grunning’s, but mostly he was dreading what might await him at home. When he heard Petunia shrieking from downstairs this morning, he didn’t know what to think – _was there a dead rat on the front porch? Did some homeless bum pass out in the yard?_ – but despite his uncanny encounter the previous day, the strange people in cloaks, the whispers of the Potters, he hadn’t really expected anything funny to happen to them. I mean, really, what good would it do to involve upright law-abiding citizens such as themselves? Nothing, that’s what.

But that baby. Ah, the baby, yes. Of course, these peculiar, oddly-dressed people would be precisely the sort to drop a baby of all things on a stranger’s doorstep in the middle of the night.

Why though? He had seen the letter, but Petunia had hurried him along, noting he was late to the office already, before he had a chance to read it. All she had said was, “it’s my sister, apparently she got herself and her husband killed, and his people left this with us.” As she handed him his briefcase, she added, “we’ll have to wait to discuss this until tonight, after Dudley has gone to bed.” He’d assented – he was, after all, running behind the dreadful traffic into town – but only begrudgingly. What was there to talk about? They couldn’t possibly take care of a baby from a union like that. What if it took after it’s father? Could it infect Dudley with its strangeness? And, perhaps even more importantly, how could they explain this to the neighbors?

Vernon groaned slightly as he leveraged his bulk from behind his desk. Grabbing his bag, he exited the little windowed room, nodded in response to Ms.--- “have a good evening, Mr. Dursley,” and took the elevator down to the garage. _What were they going to talk about_?

* * *

Peering around the paisley curtains, Petunia saw Vernon’s car turn down Privet Drive. She knew what she had to do. Swallowing her loathing of James (and that awful, awful boy from Spinner’s End) and jealously of her sister, she had decided there was nothing to it but to accept the letter’s injunction. Despite their estrangement, she was too conservative to really hate Lily. Dislike, disassociate from, yes. But still, there were family ties that bound her to Lily, and now to Harry. This line of thinking was easier now that she knew he bore no physical resemblance to Lily’s world.

“I’m home,” Vernon called, opening the front door. He removed his shined leather shoes and went through to the kitchen, where Petunia usually greeted him. “How’s my little Duddy-boy?” he cooed upon seeing the boy in the high chair at the table. Raising his gaze, his eye’s met Petunia’s, who was standing at the sink with an inscrutable look on her face.

“We need to talk,” Petunia stated.

“Now? But I thought –”

Cutting in, she continued, “I know, I said later, but I really think it might be better to get it over with, now that you haven’t got any pressing concerns. Let’s go into the living room.” Sticking a sweet into Dudley’s hand, she baby-talked “mummy and daddy are going to have a quick talk, but we’ll be right back sweetheart. You can have your favorite candy while we’re gone.”

Sitting across from each other in the upholstered armchairs – itself a peculiar sign, usually they’d sit next to each other on the sofa – Vernon decided to venture first.

“Where is the boy?”

“Upstairs, sleeping in spare baby cage,” replied Petunia. Continuing, with slight trepidation, “I think we’ll have to keep him.”

“What?” exclaimed Vernon. “Why? Doesn’t his father’s family have any relatives?”

“Apparently not any extant relations, no. The letter said I’m the closest, and for all intents and purposes, the only, family he’s got left.”

Searching, rather desperately, Vernon asked, “an orphanage then? We can’t have it around Dudley, Petunia. And the neighbors will talk.”

“Exactly, Vernon,” replied Petunia. “ _The neighbors will talk_. One of them might have already seen him on the front porch. No one has asked yet, but it’s a distinct possibility. And how could we send him away to an orphanage knowing he’s my nephew – he might come from an unnatural environment, but he’s still family. Until he’s old enough to see whether it will out, I couldn’t send him away to strangers. And, well, Vernon dear, he looks so like Lily. Maybe it’s a sign we could set him straight, keep him away from all that?”

Sensing defeat, Vernon tried to set his thoughts in order. “Alright, dear, those are good points. But if he does turn out to be like them, we’ll need to do something. Perhaps send him away to boarding school? One of my old Smelting’s colleagues might have a connection to one where he could work in exchange for tuition.”

“Certainly, we can discuss options later, once we ascertain his nature,” Petunia replied. “In the meantime, I was thinking we could host a party for the neighbors and our friends, introducing him. That way we can manage everyone at once.”

“What were you thinking of saying?” asked Vernon, cautiously. He didn’t quite dare to propose his own solution, having managed to extract a promise to reexamine Harry’s position in the future.

“Well, we can hardly say they were murdered! That would be far too scandalous,” declaimed Petunia. “And anything less than death would raise too many questions. I was thinking something nondescript, maybe a car crash? With him there, to help explain the scar?”

“That could work,” replied Vernon slowly. Thinking through the details, he added, “but what about the fact you have a sister? I don’t remember which acquaintances we might have told, and it would look strange for one to manifest out of the blue.”

Petunia stared intently at the floor for a few minutes, thinking. Finally, she raised her head and began, “I don’t really want to say we were estranged, again, too discomfiting. But no one knows much about my background, just that my parents died young. I think I’ll say that Lily met someone from abroad during university – Australia would do, as it’s Commonwealth and far away – and moved there afterwards. That would explain why we neither of us visited the other. And international calls and even post is so expensive, so we only kept in touch infrequently.”

“Good,” Vernon nodded. “That all makes sense. Make his father an only child if he wasn’t already, that will cut off any questions about his side.”

“Then we’re in agreement?”

“Yes, certainly dear” Vernon responded. “When should we hold the party?”

“Let’s try for the following Saturday. That will give me enough time to plan canapes.” Petunia, glad for the conversation to be over, had already turned to nuts and bolts of the scheme. Far easier to prepare menus and make little devils on horseback and fruit tartlets than create a backstory for the baby upstairs.

“Excellent, excellent,” murmured Vernon. “I’ll tell some colleagues at work. Now, what were we thinking of for dinner?” he said, abruptly changing the topic.

And so Harry Potter came to live at Number 4, Privet Drive. By a stroke of luck – or genetics – his red hair and green eyes meant that Petunia accepted him slightly less grudgingly than she would have otherwise. Yes, he would never be given quite the same slate of opportunities as Dudley, but the heightened physical manifestation of familial bonds meant that Petunia accepted him as family, not a servant. And despite the superficially patriarchal nature of the Dursley household, when Petunia Dursley put her foot down, Vernon would inevitably follow.


End file.
